


Reality - Unhappy Ending

by touchinghearts



Category: SHINee
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe, Angst, Character Death, M/M, One Shot, POV Second Person, Romance, Sad, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-01
Updated: 2011-04-01
Packaged: 2017-10-17 10:37:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/175976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/touchinghearts/pseuds/touchinghearts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s deathly silent in his room aside from the machines. AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reality - Unhappy Ending

**Author's Note:**

> Please be aware that this story contains major character death. There is a different version of this story, in which everything remains the same except the death doesn't happen.

It’s the last thing you expect.

It’s a case of dream turned into a nightmare. You finally start semester break from college after a busy few months where you _study, study, study_. Now you’re home, back with him, back with the one you’re in love with after so long. You have seemingly endless weeks of holiday before you and absolutely no obligations or books to focus on. It’s the free time you’ve been waiting for.

You’ve missed him. And you plan to spend much of that free time showing him just how much.

The last day of college exams and you’re getting off the bus at the station in your town. You look around, your head poking over the rest of the crowd but you don’t see him anywhere. You frown ever so slightly because he’s supposed to be here to pick you up.

It’s while you’re setting your bag on a nearby bench that you hear his musical voice – _Minho-ah, over here!_ – call out over the chatter of voices. You swing around and there he is, shining like a beacon of light amongst the crowds as he comes towards you, waving wildly. He’s grinning — he’s always grinning but at the moment his face is positively glowing.

For a second you wonder if you look as radiant as he does now.

You brush the thought away and meet him halfway, nearly tripping back when he pounces on you. He feels soft and warm in your arms and suddenly a glob of longing lodges itself in your throat. You pull him closer in that hug and bury your face in his shoulder. You hadn’t really realised just how badly you’ve missed the feel of him against you.

“I missed you,” you whisper.

You don’t see it but you know his smile is soft.

“I missed you, too, baby,” he murmurs back.

The both of you go home with your luggage pulled along in one of Jinki’s hands and yours in the other.

A week in and you take a day to go out with your friends. He has work and he can’t come so you give him a particularly amorous kiss – _Minho, we’re in public!_ –  and say a cheerful goodbye as Kibum honks noisily at the front of the house. He yells at your friends about being loud brats with no lives and Jonghyun yells back about old men working too much while Taemin giggles from the back. All of you try to cajole him one last time to come along, _it’s been too long since we’ve gone out together, all five of us!_ but he waves at you to go ahead, promising to make it up to you on a different day.

It never occurs to you that there might not _be_ a different day.

So you drive off with your friends in Kibum’s fancy new convertible and head for the mall. It’s the best day out you’ve had since you started college. You go roller-skating and taunt Jonghyun who refuses to let go of Kibum and Taemin _Aww is the little puppy scaaaared?_ as he screeches about falling. In the end you take pity on him so you and Kibum help him out of the rink but at the last second, literally a few centimetres from salvation, you somehow slip and bring them down along with you.

Taemin is bent over double, roaring in laughter as you lie there, blinking up at the ceiling and wondering how the stars have drifted indoors from the cosmos, and then you think that maybe the throbbing at the back of your head has a part in it. Jonghyun’s screeching is no match for Kibum’s _I broke a nail, goddamit you freak!_ but then you’re all laughing and rolling around, and people are staring at you like you’ve gone nuts. Bah, what do they know? You’ve gone nuts a long time ago— _when you fell for him_.

You don’t even suspect what’s happening at that same moment.

You go to karaoke next. As expected, Jonghyun conquers one of the microphones and this time he’s even more possessive about it, probably because he feels the need to heal his wounded pride. He sings at the top of his lungs and without a care in the world, the rest of you join in, purposely going off at terrible pitches just to annoy him. You don’t even need to try, to be honest, but you make yourself completely ridiculous because you know how much it irritates Jonghyun when people interrupt his singing.

You’re all jumping like chimpanzees on the couches and Kibum’s performing the latest girl group dance he’s learnt in three seconds – _Shoot Shoot Shoot_ – while Taemin shouts out incomprehensible words and even without all this noise you wouldn’t have heard the sound of sirens streaking past the mall at that second.

You go eat and it’s while you’re repulsing Kibum by showing him the contents of your mouth _Oh my God, Minho, you pig, who the hell eats ice cream with ketchup!_ that you get the call.

Your friends don’t bother to quiet down _Taeminnie, hold him down, let’s see how many colours he can turn if he tries this stuff_ as you answer your phone, blinking in confusion when you identify the caller as his mother and it’s strange, really strange, for her to be calling you at all. Why not him?

When her voice trembles in your ear, you freeze, the information being transmitted unable to process properly as her voice echoes endlessly in a soundless world. Your friends notice your sudden change and they cease their antics, turning to you with concerned expressions _Hyung, what is it?_ but you don’t notice any of it.

It’s the last thing you expect when you’re out on a fun day with your friends to find out that he’s been admitted into the hospital.

 _It’s bad, Minho-ah. They’re not sure what’s wrong with him. He’s in surgery now but they don’t know what’s going to happen or if he’ll_ — there’s a hiccup — _if he’ll make it_.

You don’t hear any more. You don’t even notice anything else. All you know is that you’re jolting to your feet and bolting, the voices of your friends shouting at you for explanations fading off into the background as your heart pounds in your ear. You don’t know where you’re going, you don’t really know anything about where he is or what’s actually happened, but all you want to do is reach his side and hold his hand and see him beaming at you like he always does saying _Everything will be okay, Minho-ah_.

Your friends catch up to you in the parking lot. Kibum jerks his car right in front of you to block your path and snaps at you to get in, Jonghyun and Taemin in the back seat looking nervous. You just stare at them all until Kibum snaps again, and only then do you realise what he’s saying and you get in. He asks where you want to go and you open your mouth but you don’t know, because your mind is a blank, the only thing stamped on it — _or if he’ll make it_.

Kibum is asking again and you manage to pull yourself together long enough to say _Hospital_ and your friends know you so well they can instantly guess what the situation is. Kibum doesn’t say a word and breaks the speed limit as he races to the hospital. You’re numb throughout the ride as your mind comes up with scenario upon scenario, only further tightening your heart strings. You get there in record time and you don’t even bother with the door; you just flip yourself over it and rush into the emergency ward, demanding to know where he is.

You’re reprimanded instantly for creating noise and havoc, as the other patients and would-be patients stare at you in terror, but you don’t care. You want to know where he is and you won’t budge until you’ve found him. Security throws you out. You just rush back in and they throw you out again, threatening to call the police the next time you disturb the peace. Taemin and Jonghyun hold you back before you can do it again and Kibum goes in to make inquiries.

When he comes out, he’s empty-handed and shaking his head and you feel like you want to fall to the ground right there. _Where is he, where the fuck is he?!_

But then your phone sings loud and clear from your pocket and you snatch at it, bark into it and his father gives you the directions. In no time you’ve reached the OR wards and you see his parents sitting halfway in. You rush in, your friends at your heels and demand to know where he is. Your chest is heaving and your heart is pounding furiously but you don’t care, not when he’s not here, not anywhere in your sight for you to reassure yourself and calm the erratic beats. His parents shake their heads at you but they understand and they point at the doors to the OR.

 _He fainted at work_ , they tell you. _Thank God someone was there to call an ambulance_.

 _They’ve tried to wake him up_ , his mother cries, _but he just won’t!_

 _No one knows why_ , his father elaborates as he holds his sobbing wife. _And they’re in there trying to figure out what’s wrong with him but he’s been there for hours and there’s been no word._

Suddenly you remember occasional headaches, the slight grimaces, the midnight trembling. You remember that time he collapsed on the way to the living room the day before, a trip you had dismissed as one of his clumsy moments. You can’t believe you didn’t piece it together; he’s been showing signs all week but you were too delighted with your holiday break to really take notice.

You don’t think you’ve loathed anyone quite as much as you do yourself right now for not paying attention to what’s really important.

His parents tell you and your friends to sit down and wait, as they’ve been doing for the past few hours. Fidgeting, you all obey but even though you’re seated, it brings you no relief. All you can think about is him laying on that operating table, the doctors cutting him open and examining his insides in their search for his apparent disease. You don’t know if you should hope that they’ll find something or not. Both options are equally terrifying in your head so in the end you settle on hoping that he’ll just be alright.

Hours upon hours fly by, or maybe minutes you don’t actually know (or care) since the doors don’t tell time, and soon your friends are forced to leave. Jonghyun and Kibum promise to return the next morning and threaten you to call them when news comes, but Taemin is panicking because he has school tomorrow and he has no way of getting here. You don’t hear anything because their voices aren’t coming from the doors.

Besides those doors, everything else is meaningless.

And then they’re replaced because now they’re opening and someone’s being wheeled out on a stretcher and you’re springing up; you can hear the cries of his parents beside you and then all three of you are by his side.

He’s pale, _he’s so so_ _pale_ , and looking at him you wish you could drag him home, ensconce the both of you in your nest of blankets and warm him up back to life with coaxing kisses that have always worked on sleep-in Saturday mornings.

His mother is sobbing again, trying to clasp his bluish hand but the nurses herd you off and they wheel him away, the three of you watching with no words in the suddenly constricting universe to describe what you’re feeling.

The doctor clears his throat and steps in front of you. He introduces himself and asks your identities. You don’t bother to answer, _let the parents do the talking_. You’re more preoccupied with where they’re taking him so you don’t stay to hear anything; you run after the nurses and climb into the ambulance with them. They don’t protest when you tell them you’re his significant other and watch sympathetically throughout the ride as you nibble on your lip, staring at him.

Each time the ambulance jerks because of some uneven ground, you wince. You imagine the pain he could be feeling from the stitches and cuts and whatever hell else is wrong with him. He doesn’t move, though, and you have to wonder if he even notices.

You hate seeing him hooked to all these machines. You hate that he can’t breathe on his own; the oxygen mask gives you thoughts you’d rather not consider. He’s so pale. He’s always been pale but this is a sickly white, a sheen of death washing over him.

You stop thinking and focus on his cold hand.

The ambulance soon stops _thank God_ and you immediately follow as they move him out and then wheel him towards his room. He gets his own, probably because of his delicate condition. The nurses force you to stay outside and you pace in front of the door.

You don’t know how long you’re pacing but it can’t have been much time that passed because then his mother is tugging at your wrist, demanding to know where he is. You tell her and his father guides her to a chair opposite the door. You stare at them for a moment, see how pale and drawn their faces are, and you can only guess how you look. It doesn’t matter; he’s much worse in there, unable to even breathe on his own, wires running from his skin to machines telling the world he’s still alive.

You remember belatedly about your friends and you duck out to call them. It’s only when you’re looking down at your phone that you realise how late it is, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Nothing much can make you care about anything besides seeing him right now.

You call Jonghyun first because it’s the best choice. Your conversation is short and to the point and you trust that he’ll tell the other two. You can’t afford to linger here too long; you want to be there when the nurses say it’s alright to go in.

It takes a lot longer than you hope. More than an hour passes by, _what the hell are they doing in there, I thought the surgery was over_ , and still you’re pacing outside the door. There aren’t any windows so you can’t see what’s going on. The waiting is driving you mad and making you bite your lip until the pain makes you stop. You want to see him.

Then there’s a voice shouting inside and you freeze in your tracks. You can see his parents straightening, their tired postures tensing with even more worry.

It isn’t his voice, you can tell, but the fact there is any shouting at all says more than you want to know. Obviously something is going wrong in there — maybe he’s crashing and the legion of doctors and nurses are struggling to stabilise him. You wish you’d stop thinking of these stupid _all too possible_ scenarios but you hope even more that if that’s the case, then they would succeed.

Suddenly the door swings wide open and you’re blinking at the chief doctor, who blinks right back at you, startled. Then she relaxes and smiles tiredly at you.

 _You can go in now,_ she says and you hear a small whimper at your shoulder, his mother. _He’s stable_.

She warns you that you should be quiet because he’s still in a delicate state. They’re not sure when he’ll wake up. You’re sharp enough to catch the stumble in her words as she speaks and you wonder if she had been about to say _if_ instead of _when._

You don’t think about it. He’s out of the danger zone and that’s all that really matters. You’ll just have to pray that he’ll get better. For now, it’s time you step into the room with his parents behind you.

You’ve already seen him but somehow this isn’t what you’re expecting.

He looks so fragile in that big white bed. So small and still aside from the barely perceptible rise and fall of his chest. The covers have been drawn up to his neck and in the light he looks almost as if he’s sleeping. He is, but you know it’s not normal sleep.

His mother is the first person beside him, brushing his hair from his forehead with that gentle touch she always treats him with. His father is next, fingers slipping under the blanket to clasp his cold hand. Your approach is far slower. You take him in as you inch to his side, noticing how sallow his skin is, how he’s still using an oxygen mask, how many wires and _whatever those lines are_ creeping out from underneath his covers.

It’s involuntary and you don’t really know when you reached him, but the pads of your fingers are stroking his cheek and all you can think about is he’s icy to the touch. Your breath is ragged and suddenly all you want to do is cry. 

Instead, you fetch an extra chair for yourself and you stay there for the rest of the night.

When your phone tells you it’s seven am, his parents take their leave, smiling wanly at you and promising that they’ll return later. His mother kisses his forehead and then hugs you, something she’s never ever done before. You’re completely still in her grasp because you don’t know what you’re supposed to do, and then she pulls away. His father places a hand on your shoulder meaningfully, making you stare, and then they’re leaving.

You’re leaning against the bed, staring at his face, when the door clicks shut behind them.

When they return that evening with your friends in tow, you haven’t moved an inch. Kibum pauses at the door and then stomps over, beginning to drag you out. You’re too tired to protest but you resist anyway because _what if he wakes up?_ Kibum doesn’t relent and with Jonghyun’s help, they haul you bodily out of the room and to the canteen a building away.

Taemin is the one who makes you eat by shoving a sandwich into your mouth and threatening to just stuff you himself if you continue refusing. In the end you listen to them and deep inside you’re grateful they’re there because right now it feels like everything is spiralling out of control. You don’t think you could hold yourself still amidst it all without your friends.

When you return the feeling triples because the door is shut tight and his parents are sitting outside, his mother sobbing into his father’s shoulder. You’re told that he’s had a seizure and everyone is in there trying to stabilise him. Jonghyun is the only reason you don’t collapse when your knees are suddenly too weak and he makes you sit down.

This time only minutes pass by before the door opens and the chief doctor steps outside again. She looks grim and takes a deep breath but you cut her off before she can speak. You jump to your feet and you demand to know how he is.

She stares at you for a moment and then she tells you that he’s not in good shape. His heartbeat is too slow and he can’t breathe on his own. There’s a possibility that they’ll have to do another surgery. It’s definite if he doesn’t wake up before tomorrow morning.

You’re not really sure you hear anything as she explains why the second surgery is needed because the world is suddenly too loud that you can’t hear anything and there’s an exquisite pressure in your lungs. Someone’s hand slips into yours and you look down to see Kibum tugging you gently forward, into his room.

He looks exactly as you’ve left him, except for the nurses checking him over. You’re forced to wonder if there was a seizure at all because it doesn’t look as if he’s moved at all, as he must have but you don’t think about it anymore. Kibum guides you to your seat and you collapse into it. You lean forward as the nurses back out of the room. It’s completely silent and you reach out, taking his hand in yours. His skin is still as cold as before.

No one speaks a single word.

Visiting hours come to an end and your friends leave. His parents leave, too, because only one person is allowed to stay with him past the allotted time. You’re a bit surprised that they’re allowing you to be that person but you don’t question. You know you wouldn’t budge anyway.

The time crawls by and all you do is sit there, holding onto his hand as if it’s a lifeline, for _him_ , as though he needs it to cling to whatever life he has left. You despise yourself for thinking like this but you can’t stop, not when he looks like this. He’s white, and hardly breathing, his skin is freezing and his eyes are closed.

A nurse comes in later to check on his vitals and his blood. When she’s done, she offers you a blanket and you thank her. She shuts the lights off and leaves the door open on her way out.

Wrapping the blanket around you, you don’t sleep a wink.

Morning comes and he doesn’t wake up. Instead, he starts spasming and choking inside the mask, his frail body jerking and you’re yelling for help, your heartbeat thunderous as your shaking hand grips his. People rush in, shouting orders, _get that mask off, he’s choking on his fluids!_ and a nurse draws you away, trying to soothe you but it’s not working because all you can see is his bed crowded with vigorous medical staff and all you can hear is the frantic yelling, the loud, irregular beeping of machines telling you that it’s all going _wrong_.

There’s no other choice so they rush him to the OR and you follow. You’re left outside, feeling helpless, shaking and doing your best not to give in to blind panic. You grapple for your phone and somehow you end up calling Taemin instead of the people you need to call. You don’t know what you’re saying but you need someone here _right now_ and in ten minutes everyone is here.

His parents coerce the necessary information out of you before they sit down again, looking like the world is crashing around their feet. You know the feeling.

Kibum coaxes you to sit down and Taemin – he must’ve skipped school because the bright sky shows that it’s well into the morning – hands you a cup. You don’t know what it is but you gulp it down just for something to _do_. Your hands are trembling so Jonghyun takes them into his, murmuring words that don’t really register.

You hate hate _hate_ this because you’re not the one who’s sick, you’re not the one undergoing surgery for the second time in _two_ days, you’re not the one with your life hanging in the balance, but you’re the one who feels like you’re dying. You think that you don’t have any right to feel like this but it’s as if you’re losing everything even when there’s nothing confirmed yet.

Your friends do their best to soothe you and you’re grateful because it’s their support that pulls you back from the threshold of mental breakdown. You allow them to coo and hug you, whispering reassurances they don’t really have the authority to issue but you appreciate it anyway because you just need to hear that he’ll be okay. They tell you that over and over again as you sit in this hard, plastic chair, your knuckles white as Jonghyun holds on to you, everyone wishing and wishing that it’s true.

He’s wheeled out of surgery several hours later and this time the four of you head straight for his room instead of going with the ambulance, leaving the doctor with his parents. You’re hovering by the door when he’s brought in and you watch, Taemin clutching your arm, as they transfer him onto the bed. The curtain is drawn and you fidget.

You didn’t plan on going anywhere but then you hear loud sobbing outside the room and reluctantly you and your friends step outside to find the source.

Your blood runs cold when you see his mother wailing in her husband’s arms, and he’s also crying, much to your horror. You don’t want to ask, you don’t think you can handle the bad news, whatever it is, because it can’t be good news, you know that.

Kibum is the one who asks. _What is it?_ He sounds wary as he asks the bleak-faced doctor.

She informs you that the surgery didn’t go well. He’s in a bad condition right now because his heart isn’t supporting him the way it should and he still can’t breathe on his own. Apparently his bodily functions have crashed and that’s why he’s hooked to so many machines that are trying their very best to keep him alive.

 _It’s not looking too good for him_ , she says.

You can’t really breathe right now. She’s telling you that if he isn’t awake in the next twenty-four hours, he won’t wake up at all. You feel sweat breaking out all over your body and you’re aware that you’re shaking again but you don’t know what to do with yourself. You don’t know how you’re supposed to react.

 _If he’s not awake by tomorrow night, it’ll only be a matter of time before he’s…gone._

It feels like you’re on autopilot for the rest of the evening. Your friends force you to eat – you refuse to leave his side so they bring the food to you instead and even then you only take a few nibbles – and try to convince you to go home so you could rest but you won’t. You’re exhausted but sleep is the last thing you’ll be able to do right now.

Eventually they have to go and you vaguely wave them goodbye. His parents soon depart as well, his mother still crying, and now you’re left alone.

He doesn’t look like he’s on the brink of death, you note, as you gaze at his unlined face. He looks fast asleep. He’s a bit paler than usual but otherwise he looks exactly like he does whenever you watch him on nights you can’t sleep, with only the moonlight washing over his face. He’s beautiful, in an ethereal way, but he’s always been beautiful, especially to you.

He’s beautiful when he laughs; he’s beautiful when he cries. He was beautiful even when he came home grumbling from a walk. It had started to pour and a car zoomed by, soaking him in water and mud. You laughed so hard that day before you bundled him up in your arms and went to shower together.

You can still remember the way he looked up at you when you led him to bed.

 _“Minho-ah,” he says, his sweet voice caressing your ears as he reaches a hand up and brushes his knuckles against your cheek._

 _“Hyung,” you reply with a gentle smile. You lean down, closing the distance between your faces._

 _He returns your smile and you gaze into shining chocolate eyes, marvelling at the beauty underneath you. And it’s all yours._

 _“I love you,” he whispers._

 _You don’t even bother to hide the bursting joy that bubbles up each time he says it. “I love you too.”_

You’re crying before you realise it. Fat tears rolling down your face, little hiccups catching at the back of your scratchy throat and you’re clutching at his freezing hand again. Your entire body is trembling but you don’t know how to stop it so you don’t and let yourself cry, because this is the first time you’ve done so since you’d heard that he’d been admitted.

You’re scared shitless right now. What if he doesn’t wake up? You can’t imagine a life without him, never thought that there would ever be a day you wouldn’t have him at least available on the phone. The thought that he would never see your results when they came out, never spot you sticking your tongue out at him as he lectures you about leaving your stuff around the house, never kiss you on the cheek when you hug him on a whim, never smiling at you that sweet, adorable smile you’re so in love with — the thought of none of that happening again is _terrifying_.

It’s terrifying because you don’t think you’ll be able to survive it.

You’re hyperventilating but with an iron will you calm yourself down, taking deep, even breaths. You squeeze your eyes shut, hoping, hoping, that he’ll open his warm eyes tomorrow. Hoping, hoping, that he’ll wake up. Hoping, hoping, that he won’t leave you. Hoping, hoping, that he won’t die.

 _Please, please don’t die._

The tears go on for so long until you feel like there’s no more water in your body to shed. Your grip on his hand remains tight but all you do is rest your forehead against his body so you can feel his chest go up and down, reassuring you that he’s still there even if he won’t wake up.

The night goes on. You text your friends. You’re thankful that even though it’s past midnight they’re still willing to text you back. You just want something to distract you from thinking too much about the still form in front of you, to stop you from thinking at all. Your breath hitches once in a while but you ignore that. His hand has warmed up in yours and that’s what you focus on. You sit back eventually, choosing to just look at him.

It seems a bit surreal all of a sudden. You’re not sure if it’s because you feel somewhat detached, but you’ve calmed down, and you practically feel nothing. Or maybe you feel numb. You don’t know.

You think of all those times that you’ve made him laugh. You think of all the times you’ve made him angry. There have been times when you’ve reduced him to tears and times when you’ve strengthened him enough to face the tough world. He’s always been the optimistic one, quick to anger and quick to forgive. You’re basically the opposite of him and that’s always been a fun topic for your friends to muse over.

Thinking about him passes the time, but later on, you realise that hours have gone by and your mind has been totally blank. All you’ve been doing is staring at his calm face.

It’s deathly silent in his room aside from the machines. You can’t even hear yourself breathe. You close your eyes for a moment, feeling the acute weight of your eyelids, feeling the bone-deep weariness from deep within your core. You long for his arms around you, rejuvenating you with that strange power his hugs have, and then you wish _you_ could hug _him_.

You open your eyes and the sadness almost stifles you as you gaze at him. All you want to do right now is hold him close. All you want right now is for him to wake up.

 _Wake up_ , you tell him, and you don’t even have the energy to feel silly. He doesn’t move. You didn’t really expect him to.

You stare down at your feet for a moment and then your head snaps up sharply.

You swear, you _swear_ you had felt his hand squeeze yours. It had been light, almost unnoticeable, but you’ve been so strung out waiting for _something_ to happen that it felt like he had tugged your entire arm. You know he squeezed your hand. You _know_ he had moved.

The hope flares wildly in you like an inferno.

You stare at his face avidly. But nothing else happens. You squeeze his hand and still there isn’t a response. You’re not let down too much. He had moved and that’s all you care about. That’s all that matters. You think it’s a step.

You watch him for the rest of the night, hardly even batting an eyelash when a nurse comes in to do check-ups. You tell her what he did and she smiles at you, happy. She tells you it’s a good sign. When she leaves, you feel your shoulders relaxing and suddenly it’s easier to breathe although you hadn’t noticed when it became hard.

The morning passes by and the good feeling dissipates. The doctor comes in that afternoon and you tell her, too, but her response is different from the nurse’s. She asks you if he’d moved anymore and you shake your head. When she exits the room, you can see that she’s biting her lip.

You feel like screaming as the seconds tick by. You plead at him silently to wake up, _I need you to open your eyes_. You tell him how much he means to you, how happy they would be when he wakes up and then both of you can leave the hospital. You tell him sorry for things he doesn’t even know about, for things that aren’t your fault, for things that don’t need apologies.

You tell him how much you love him _so_ _please, wake up_.

Finally you just stop trying to do anything because you’re so tired, even thinking is sapping your energy. You drag the chair closer to his bed and sag back against it. You don’t think you can sleep but you’re head is heavy and there’s a slight pressure at your temples. Your vision seems narrow and you feel dizzy but you know it’s because of your lack of sleep. You shake your head to clear it a little. You don’t _I never will_ let go of his hand.

That’s when you notice it.

The realisation comes in a cold rush as though a bucket of icy water had been upturned over your head. Your heart is suddenly frantic and you can’t — _you can’t breathe._

The beeping monitor that measures his heart isn’t beeping. Instead, all you hear is a long, keen sound that goes on and on and on.

You let your eyes drift to his beautiful face.

“Jinki?” You whisper, except your voice doesn’t really come out because it’s so broken and hopeless.

Of course, he doesn’t answer. You don’t need to look to see that the line on the heart monitor is flat.

The breath you take in rattles dully in your chest. You tighten your grip on his hand, warm since you’ve been clasping it for so long, and then gently you lay your head on his unmoving chest.

Your entire being shakes with silent sobs but your heart is as silent as his.

 

 **END**


End file.
